Traum
by Thyme In Her Eyes
Summary: He can only accept her kisses, the same way he once accepted a crown of flowers from her when she was a child. Rue x Mytho.


Traum

by Thyme In Her Eyes

_Author's Note:_ My first ever Tutu-fic, and I hope you enjoy it! It's a Rue/Mytho piece (oh, how I love those two), set shortly before Kraehe is instructed by the Raven to live in the human world, and erases her memory to fully take on her Rue-persona. As always, all feedback is deeply appreciated. And just to disclaim – I own neither the characters or the show and am making no profit from this. Oh, and if anyone's wondering – the title is German for 'Dream'. Just seemed to fit. ;)

**-- TRAUM --**

Nobody knows about this place, where the wind is always soft and the light gentle. She likes being here, and she loves him.

There are no ravens here; no red eyes watching her. No stupid, surly boys either. No-one must come here, no-one is allowed to ruin these moments, and no-one will ever take him away from her. Her tainted blood channels the conviction through her body, until it floods her soul and bursts her young heart.

In this glade, her name is Rue, and in his presence she's free to make-believe that she's not an ugly, misshapen and unhappy crow after all, but his Princess. She can wrap his unprotesting arms around her, cage them both in an embrace, and pretend that she's cherished, protected and loved the way all true princesses are. She can dance and dream here, with a fresh blue sky above her. Everything radiates peace, safety and happiness; all because of him. She can bask in the sunlight, in the glow of her Prince's company and undivided attention, and in the warm feeling of being Rue.

This is her favourite spot in the world – a place she's always loved and he can never love. The spring air lies upon her lips.

"Prince," she says, touching a finger to his mouth. "I want to kiss you."

"Why?" His eyes are sweetly uncomprehending, his face too calm.

"Because I love you."

His expression remains soft and unchanging, as always. Steady eyes tell stories from somewhere far apart and wholly different; a place Kraehe can sense, but can never reach or pull him back from. Instead, he gets lost in her statement, fails to understand, and becomes dim and empty again as he turns his face from hers and watches the flight of a small canary; bright and yellow against the blue sky.

Kraehe's never been taught to seek, only to obey and accept with gratitude and humility, and although she tries so hard to prove she's not some spoiled and ungrateful child, in the late spring warmth it's so easy to forget her Father's sternest lessons. She seeks this kiss out, and wants so desperately to make the Prince her own, even if she has to forage all day for proof of an affection she knows can't really exist. Her arms encircle his throat and crawl upwards, winding into his snow-white hair, and its strands are so soft against her skin.

"You love me too, don't you?" she asks, converging the child's vulnerability and the young woman's longing. "You must."

"I do," her Prince answers, with a calm and taught faithfulness.

It hurts to hear, even when the words and affirmations are so precious and longed-for. She doesn't pity his lack of feeling, she tells herself once again. She loves him for it. She knows all of him, and cares for all of him. Perhaps he may be broken and false in so many ways, but he's the truest and most perfect being Kraehe's ever known. He's all she needs to be whole and happy. Her heart has always known this, and continues to believe it even as it grows ever more dark and demanding.

"Tell me," she insists.

"I love you, Rue."

His voice alone tells her that all links connecting word, meaning and emotion were shattered long ago. In response, Kraehe only caresses his face with pale, small hands to show her forgiveness and acceptance.

"You can't help what you are any more than I can, right?" she murmurs. "That's why we're fated."

He's still watching the bird with dreamy eyes, and it scathes her pride to envy such a small and helpless thing.

Kraehe sighs and rests her dark head against the Prince's chest. Slowly and firmly, her hand presses over his shattered heart. Whatever lies there may be simple and strange, but it must always be hers. Ignoring the raven-hunger calling inside her, she allows her eyes to drift shut as she sinks against him and feels safe in his arms. Every part of her, even the hunger and the hurt, feels lulled and soothed by his warmth and the soft silence where a heartbeat should be sounding. It's familiar and comforting, and all she's ever associated with happiness and gentleness. She's never been disturbed or frightened by him, not even when she presses her ear against the hollow space where a heart belongs, and finds only emptiness.

It's like holding a conch-shell against her ear, she often thinks. He's just as opaque and beautiful, and being near him is like closing her eyes, listening to the music of a sea-shell, and hearing echoes of distant waves. He's magical in the same way. It doesn't matter that he hasn't a heart, because Kraehe can still catch traces of wonderful, far-away things in his eyes, his words, his silences, his spontaneous and selfless actions, and in the strange and soundless warmth where a loving heart should be beating.

"My prince," she whispers. "My dear prince."

Just because he accepts her embraces and affections, it doesn't mean that he likes or wants them, and yet she can't let go. It's so difficult to stop trying and needing. Even when he's too beautiful to bear, and even when she wants to cry and curse and hate him, the hope won't leave her be.

"Rue..." he speaks softly, his sleepy awareness shifting to her once more. "Did I do something wrong?"

She raises her head once more, and stares into his eyes. This time, he's looking at her and nothing else, but he can only look without ever seeing. He recognizes the girl, she knows. He knows that she's Rue and his friend and a dancer, and is taller than she used to be, and yet he never fully notices her even when she's all there is to see. After so many years of adoration, he's still blind to all the feelings she wants to show and share, and yet it's so much better than nothing.

"No," she answers, dropping a quick kiss to his chest for emphasis. "Never."

She can faintly feel smooth skin underneath thin white linen, and she still wants to kiss him. Kraehe leans in closer, filled with loneliness and expectancy. She never asks anymore if he'd _like _to be kissed by her, because she knows the inevitable and painful answer. She can't possibly shatter the dream now – not when it has her wrapped so tightly, and holds her so close. Still, she smiles.

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes."

Her smile widens; full of triumph and possession. This is victory. He'll never seek out her love for himself, but he never refuses it either. Perhaps he may never fully see or comprehend the love she holds for him, but that also means he'll never see her for the ugly and pitiful creature she truly is either, and won't ever recoil from her touch. As long as their tale remains this way, she can never be sad.

Her hands move to his cheeks, gently framing his face. So close, she could breathe his words, if only he had any to offer, and lock them inside her for all her life. Her thumb glides over a cheekbone in a quick caress, and she knows he's all hers. Years ago, her touch – be it a hug, a held hand or a shy kiss to the cheek or mouth – was always hesitant and unsure, but she's now grown into powers and strengths of her own, and whispers of greed and entitlement are piercing through her. Her hands are soft, but they control and claim.

Her shadow falls over him and blocks out the sun, hiding his blank face from it like a great black wing, and fills his vision with her. For a moment, the image of a raven's feathers and black ink passes through her mind, and she trembles.

"Rue?"

His eyes simply stare and take her in. There's no anticipation in him, but that's alright. In its place is an unsurprised and absolute acceptance, and Kraehe wants to live in those wide-open eyes, and perhaps die in them: anything to be a part of them.

Eyes closing, Kraehe shakes her head softly and makes no reply, as she touches her lips to his. The kiss is as delicate and graceful as he is: a butterfly dancing on his lips.

He remains silent and motionless yet softly absorbed, and she likes to imagine him spellbound in these moments. Of course, he doesn't respond or return her kiss – he never does. What they're doing holds no special significance for him, but he allows her nonetheless. He always does. Even broken and heartless, he gives of himself without even understanding.

Kraehe is slow and soft as she brushes her mouth across his, breathing in the scent of his skin and hair, wanting it to last forever. She lingers, grazing and coaxing as her hands relax and carefully tilt his face towards hers, and then slide up into his hair as her kiss drifts on. Light and warm and insistent as the flowering spring, she flutters across the curves and seams of his mouth before pressing closer, and taking his bottom lip between hers. The sun is warm on her shoulders and back, and the world around them is still and serene, with only occasional notes of birdsong breaking the silence.

He sighs into her mouth, passive but receptive, and it may not be perfect but it's all she can ever ask for. It's theirs, and it's enough. His eyes drift shut as if lost somewhere in a floating calm, and Kraehe can feel his long, thick lashes brush her face. This is the rarest treasure. The air is heavy and sweet, and her heart is full.

Slowly and breathlessly, she withdraws and opens her eyes, wanting to see him and always remember him this way. His dark lashes are still softly fanned against his cheeks; his lips still delicately parted. Eventually his eyes lift open again, lost and innocent as ever.

"Thank you."

It's all he ever has to say.

He doesn't fully understand what a kiss is, she knows. All he recognizes is a gift offered with kindness; one that doesn't prevent him from dancing or saving the helpless, and so he always accepts her kisses; the way he once accepted a crown of flowers from her when she was a child. Every kiss of theirs is a lie.

She pushes the hurt away and smiles for him. After all, this is how their tale must always be. She'll remain true to her word, and won't ever let herself feel sad.

But she remembers those pretty wildflowers flowers now, all woven into crowns she once imagined to be beautiful and fit for a prince. She only wanted to please him and make him smile, but she can only recall how he eventually discarded all the flowers she gave him and the gifts she wove for him – not out of disdain or cruelty, but sheer forgetfulness, for his mind and focus were as loose and adrift then as they are now – and how much it hurt. She remembers hating a dark-haired boy who often threw her Prince's presents away, and she remembers saving each forgotten crown and even risking her Father's wrath by keeping them. Most of all, she remembers lying down in her nest of black feathers and holding the flowers her Prince forgot, brushing them against her small face and smelling them, and trying to remember everything about him.

Sometimes, she gets frightened when she thinks of those sad nights. Even though she's the Raven Princess and should fear nothing, save her Father's anger, this recurring thought has the power to terrify her. Her Prince can discard her. He can forget her. It won't be done unkindly, but it will break her apart all the same. He might rescue something else that needs him, some helpless and pathetic creature, and it might take him away from her. There will always be other beings in need of him, and he will never fail them, and he'll never understand what his rejections do to her.

But Kraehe is the Princess of Ravens, and she will not let this happen.

He might have once set aside and forgotten crowns of flowers, but he can't ever discard a kiss. Once given, a kiss never goes away but stays engraved on him like a seal. It means he belongs to her, and nobody else. He lets no-one else touch him this way, and he never will. She'll see to that. There will only ever be her. Every kiss of theirs is a trap.

But she comes here to forget all that. She comes here to be Rue, and to be happy. The shade offered by their tree is cool and welcome in the summer heat, and the shadows cast by the branches and leaves above are faint, and never make her think of the darkness of a raven's feathers, or the wet black of ink. No black feathers drift down upon her form here; only pale pink flower-petals falling and spinning in delicate fouettés. It's a dream, and she never wants to wake from it.

"My prince?" she murmurs again, resting her head on his shoulders once more. Her eyes sting.

"Yes?"

She says nothing. No more lies and traps fall from her lips. Instead, she wraps her arms around him again, tighter this time, and wills him to finally understand how much he means to her.

**-- FIN --**


End file.
